When the moon was at the full, she was in glorious spirits, and as beautiful as it was possible for a child of her age to be.

But as the moon waned, she faded, until at last she was wan and withered like the poorest, sickliest child you might come upon in the streets of a great city in the arms of a homeless mother.

Then the night was quiet as the day, for the little creature lay in her gorgeous cradle night and day with hardly a motion, and indeed at last without even a moan, like one dead.

At first they often thought she was dead, but at last they got used to it, and only consulted the almanac to find the moment when she would begin to revive, which, of course, was with the first appearance of the silver thread of the crescent moon.

Then she would move her lips, and they would give her a little nourishment; and she would grow better and better and better, until for a few days she was splendidly well.